


Mud and wood and metal and home

by AryaWinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Homecoming, One Off, R Plus L Equals J, Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaWinter/pseuds/AryaWinter
Summary: The moment, you know the moment. Just a quick ficlet on the reunion





	Mud and wood and metal and home

_He looks older._

That was her first thought when she saw him ride into the yard. She hadn’t seen him in who knows how long. _No One knows how long_.

_Something’s different._

Her second thought. Whether it was how he carried himself on the horse or the scars around his eyes that underlined the weight of the world on his shoulders, he was not the same. How many of them were really the same anymore? Not even Sansa was the same, she was as cold as the North when all she had ever wanted was to be a Southern Queen. From her place next to her, Arya thought about how far they’d travel. She found herself gnawing on her lower lip, _well I guess not everything's changed._

As Jon rode in, she took her time assessing everything like a hawk. Her stomach flipped and somersaulted with every clip-clop of his black horse. He looked up. That was the difference. As a boy, he folded himself in trying to make himself small. He kept his hair long, hiding behind the dark curls like a curtain. His hair was now tied back, giving him a far more severe look, just like Father.

 _No. Not like Father._ As much as he looked like Father, she realized it was more an approximation. A blurry version of their father. The way she wore faces to find her power before she realized she was not No One, that was the way her brother wore their father’s hair and armor. _Oh Jon, you were always the best of us you don’t need to be Father._ When he was younger he was said to look the most like Father, long and lean and grey. While he still had that look, _he must have more of his mother in him then._

With a practised ease he hopped off his charger. Unlike herself, Arya’s focus had been so engulfed by the figure in black she had missed the pale silver riding in at a half pace beside him. _Ah, the Dragon Queen._ Daenerys Targaryen. Her silver hair and white coat gleamed in the pale winter light, somehow turning the impenetrable grey of it all into a brilliant white morning. _So unlike the last queen who rode through those gates._

Lost again in a moment of thought, the pair were before Sansa before Arya knew it. They truly did look like a pair and for all the world like a king and queen of winter.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.” Frost dripping off of every syllable Sansa spat, Arya couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of something in her brother’s scarred eyes. _How in 7 hells does someone get scarred like that?_ The queen wore a mask of regal civility, and Arya couldn’t help but smirk to herself about all the masks people wore. _Mine are just a bit more present._

There was a clear battle of wills that charged the air as Sansa stared down the Dragon Queen. An involuntary chill ran down Arya’s back that she hoped was just the breeze and not the unspoken exchange between the royals and her sister. It was beyond evident that her brother was, at the very least, attracted to this woman. _What a woman she must be_ , mused Arya, _to melt the snow around Jon’s heart._ Jon, unlike Theon and Robb had never so much as looked at a girl. He was a prankster, a great brother, and an excellent rider. Of all his many gifts, women were not among them. The queen herself also seemed, if not quite in love, at least very connected to her brother.

As the moment held for just a breath a too long, the pressure dropped. Hand drifting to Needle, Arya looked for the threat. A large, black beast came barreling from the sky. The whole party, minus Jon and the Dragon Queen, dropped to the mud. Arya, recovering quickly, looked up to see her wildest imaginations had come true. This Queen was Visenya come again. _Dragons live. Two of them._ A second one came into view. Memories of playing in the Godswood came unbidden, her as Visenya riding on Jon’s shoulders, the dragon to her wolfish spirit. Looking so much the part of his favorite knight Daemon, Jon admired the green dragon as it looped lazily above.

 _Sansa lost that one._ They had come a long way, her and Sansa, but Arya could never help but enjoy the moment Sansa was knocked down a peg, relishing it like the last bite of lemon cake. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, her brother caught her eyes. He no longer looked older. She no longer felt alone. They could have been back in her room, all those lifetimes ago, before scars and faces and all the things left unsaid. Just a girl hugging her brother breathing him in for one last time.

Being carried by every emotion she had never felt, she found herself suddenly in her brothers arms, like so long ago, breathing him in. All of him in. Pine and snow and ash and home.

“We’re home, little one.” He breathed her in. Mud and wood and metal and home.

“We’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever, seriously! I have always wanted to write and I know that by writing here I can get the best feedback (and also make these months go by faster). Thank you for reading this!


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